In spite of himself, Clem was feeling rather uncomfortable this evening. He was not so free to indulge his admiration for the inimitable Tarara with this discordant element beside him—and what if his secret should be discovered? He had, moreover, the strongest feeling that Clementina’s eyes invariably saw through the surface of things into their souls. He was afraid for her to see the Tarara, and still more afraid for the Tarara to see her, though, of course, if this should happen, he need not own the relationship between them.
Clem now felt a shrinking from the thought of Clementina’s comments on the Tarara, and he didn’t like the idea of the dancer appearing before the child in her tinsel and tights. She always came out arrayed thus for at least one dance, though she generally changed her costume several times during the evening.
As Rhodes took a furtive look at the figure beside him, his sense of discomfiture increased.
She was startlingly pale, and so slim and delicate, that he was not surprised that the people about them looked at her with a certain pity, of which, it was evident, she took no account. Her odd garments and queer hat also marked her out for special notice; and when, taken in connection with all the rest, one noted the strange penetrating gaze of her immense dark eyes, it was not surprising, perhaps, that Rhodes felt uncomfortable and half irritated at the position in which he found himself.
That fixed, absorbed look on the child’s face did not change when the performance began. It was a merry chorus which made the audience laugh and beat time, but Clementina was unmoved. Then two men came out and danced a clog-dance, during which her look remained the same—as if, somehow, she saw through and beyond it all.
It was with a feeling of distinct apprehension that Rhodes now saw Mademoiselle Tarara make her appearance. She was dressed in an Italian peasant costume, but the skirts were shorter and the bodice lower than necessity required. He looked at the child to see if her countenance expressed any disapproval. To his great surprise, he saw that the little pale face had softened into a look of pleasure, as if she recognized something that she liked.
The Tarara, meanwhile, was posed, with her hands on her hips, waiting for her cue from the orchestra.
As she stood thus, she looked around the house with an expression of friendly good-will on her face—the true index of a quality in her which accounted largely for her popularity. Then she began to sing.
It was a ballad of the “homely pathetic” order, such as never fails to go to the hearts of an audience, with its allusions to mother, wife, child, home, etc., and the Tarara sang it with great feeling.
Rhodes, watching that strange child of his, whom he always felt to be a mystery beyond his ken, saw now a look of deep content and pleasure settle on her face, and some very rare tear-drops rise to her eyes.